


One Man Army. (Reborn)

by FoulMouthedBuddhist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF John Watson, Blood and Gore, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, Homeless John Watson, Homelessness, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John Watson Has Issues, John Watson Has PTSD, John Watson Needs A Hug, John Watson is a Good Doctor, John Watson is a Saint, Light BDSM, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mycroft is a Kingsman, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Sherlock Has a Military Kink, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Sick John Watson, Slow Burn, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoulMouthedBuddhist/pseuds/FoulMouthedBuddhist
Summary: The news is going crazy, it had been for the last six months. A vigilante has taken to the streets of London England and no one can catch him. He has an army of homeless Veterans at his disposal and a heart of gold. Anyone who has run into the vigilante simply calls him 'The Captain' and sings of his good deeds, never a bad word leaving their lips about him. But Scotland Yard wants his head, he's in too deep. Every night, like clockwork, the Captain live streams from his body camera. An old piece of military hardware he wears to expose just what happens when the sun goes down. Corrupt cops, drug deals, and human trafficking. Can Sherlock Holmes track down this Captain before he gets himself killed by shady cops and thugs? Or will the Captain be the one to save him?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Philip Anderson/Sally Donovan, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 95





	1. The Episode.

Sherlock sat down on his living room floor and turned on the television, it was almost midnight. It was almost time for the show to start, it always came on at midnight. Everyone was calling it 'The Captain's show', Sherlock called it evidence. He sighed, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor as he pressed the power button, the screen humming to life. He squinted at the bright light burning his eyes, maybe he was sitting a little too close? Who cared, he was far more interested in what tonight's 'episode' was going to bring. He sighed as he watched the static for five minutes before the screen came to life, his phone chiming from a text notification from Lestrade. The Inspector was probably asking him if he was watching the telly too. But he would ignore it for now.

Most episodes started in some alleyway or under a bridge, but not tonight. Tonight it showed the Captain himself, but not his full face. No, no that would be too much help in identifying this man. He had a mask on that covered the lower half of his face, just up to the bridge of his nose. His eyes were a steely blue, his hair a greasy, greying blonde that was combed back with some effort. It was obvious to Sherlock that this Captain had some sort of a beard growing, it wasn't wild or messy. Just enough facial hair to distort the outline of his jaw, smart really. "Are we live?" Asked the Captain to a person off-screen, perhaps another Veteran who was running the IP address scrambler that Scotland Yard had yet to crack, not even Mycroft's little army could decode it. The signal and live feed had to be run by a Military coder, probably something out of date and discarded, the sound of a gas generator hummed in the background.

"Yes sir." Came a female's voice, the sound of a metal chair moving against the concrete could be heard before footsteps approached. The camera was pointed at the Captain's face, obviously hiding what their current surroundings were. Also smart, the Detective thought to himself. This Captain knew what he was doing.

"Don't get too close, you don't have a mask on. I don't need you locked up with me." Said the Captain as the camera pointed downwards towards his scuffed and muddy combat boots. "Just help me get this thing on and I'll get out of here, I expect tonight to be quiet." He said as the noise was muffled now. "It's almost Christmas, maybe a few tourists and police. But nothing crazy..." The Captain said with a sigh like he wanted a good chase, Sherlock knew that feeling all too well. 

"Just don't get stabbed again, I don't need you dripping blood everywhere." Teased the off-screen female, the sound of a hard but friendly pat could be heard to the Captain's body. "We are also running short on supplies, make sure you check drop points tonight. Some of the civvies are providing supplies for us, they want to help our cause." The Captain could be heard humming in approval, the camera spinning back up to his face.

"If any of you are watching this, I would like to thank you for the supplies..." The Captain's eyes were smiling, but they had the 'Thousand-yard' stare, the look of any man or woman who had seen enough to traumatize the average human.

"Oh I salvaged a signal counter, would you like to know how many people you are currently staring at?" Asked the female with a knowing giggle.

The Captain shrugged, smiling down at the camera as he walked over to where the streaming was operated. "Sure, enlighten me." He said, squinting his eyes at something. "That can't be right, turn it off and on again."

"No sir, that number is accurate." Came the giggle again, the Captain blinked then looked back down at the camera. He looked surprised.

"Four million? That is half of London..." He said with his own nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he held the camera a little higher. "Hello!" He waved to the camera, laughing. "I can't believe you all find this entertaining... We are just a bunch of homeless Veterans trying to make a change for the better." He mumbled, a blush spreading to his ears. Sherlock gulped, God he was cute. "Alright, I am going to cover the camera for about thirty minutes to get the Hell out of here and meet with some others from the platoon. I'll uncover it when I get to the location." He said to the camera, digging in his flak jacket pocket for the camera lens. "See you all in just a moment." The Captain said before the cap was placed on, it was nothing but sound at that point. 

Sherlock decided to check his phone then, unlocking the phone with his thumbprint after clicking the text notification. His eyes widened in shock as he read the text from Lestrade. "We are ambushing the Captian, we have cops set up on every street corner and uncover cops out. He isn't getting away tonight.-GL" Sherlock looked back up at the television screen and gulped, oh no. He couldn't let this man be caught, he didn't know what it was, but his gut was yelling at him.

"Mrs.Hudson!" Screamed Sherlock as he dashed to his flat's door, grabbing his peacoat and scarf before dashing down the stairs. The landlady met him at the bottom of the stairs, a look of concern on her face.

"Oh dear, is our flat about to catch on fire again? Sherlock, we have spoken about this! No more petrol in this flat!" She scolded him with a huff, crossing her arms.

"What? No! No! They are about to ambush the Captain and drag him to Scotland Yard! I have to stop them!" He yelled as he moved past her, nearly kicking open the front door as he dashed out onto the street but he stopped on the landing. Shit, he didn't know where he was going. Mrs.Hudson cleared her throat behind him, motioning him to follow her into her own flat.

"You will need to know where he is first." She said with a smile as they walked, the landlady stepped aside as she opened her door and let the Detective in. "You aren't the only Detective in London tonight, have you checked 'the' Twitter, darling? People are looking out their windows and are on the streets looking to meet this man, they've nicknamed him 'London's Batman'. Look." She turned her laptop towards the Detective, the feed with the hashtag 'The Captain' was going crazy. Tweet after tweet was coming in of mostly nonsense and false sightings, London was throwing Scotland Yard off this man's tail. Some were dressed in camouflage and face masks, just as the Captain been wearing tonight. It made Sherlock smile. Brilliant. 

"Oh! Look, Sherlock!" Mrs.Hudson said as she quickly moved to click on one tweet, it was a video of the Captain with a small girl dressed up in a similar uniform, they both looked so happy to see each other. Mrs. Hudson clicked play and stepped back as the video started.

"I can't believe it's you!" Said the little girl with a giggle as she was picked up by the Captain who placed her on his hip. "Mummy lets me stay up on the weekends to watch you! She says you are so nice!" The little girl said. She had to be at least six years old and was absolutely over the moon in meeting this stranger. It showed just how much the people of London trusted this man as the woman behind the camera stepped closer to peck a kiss to the man's face. The Doctor chuckled, it was a sweet sound to Sherlock's ears. But he couldn't focus on that now, he was looking at the background. Gathering details from the grainy, dark footage.

"Soho! He is in Soho!" Sherlock yelled as he went to dash out the door again, leaving Mrs.Hudson standing there as he took off on foot towards Soho. "He is near the Chinatown Gate!" He screamed to himself in his excitement, not knowing Mycroft was watching him on the CCTV. 

"Interesting..." Hummed Mycroft from his office chair that sat before a thousand screens, his coworkers sitting in a stadium like arrangement. "Thank you for the tip, little brother." The eldest pulled out his phone, sending a text to Lestrade. 


	2. Red String of Fate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes it to Soho in time, only to find the Veterans running for their lives.

Sherlock was out of breath as he exited the alleyway of Rupert Court and onto Wardour Street, his curls plastered to the sides of his head despite the cold December air chilling him to the bones. He leaned against Hung's Chinese Restaurant as he tried to fix his ringlets and waves with his fingers, huffing to himself about needing to work on cardio. That's when he heard several loud thuds followed by shouting, he looked to his right towards the gate that connected the streets Wardour and Lisle. "Fucking move! Get out of here!" Came the familiar voice of the Captain, the silhouette of a short, but stocky man standing before the gate. "Alpha go right! Tango go left! Split up! Go!" He yelled, standing still in the middle of Wardour as the sounds of sirens moved in.

Sherlock looked to both ends of Wardour, shit, the cops. They were closing in the paths that lead to the Captain's only way out. No, not just the Captain. Twenty men and women came pouring around the corner of Lisle splitting up as ordered. The Detective looked behind him at Rupert court, there were no cops. He knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath and shouted as loud as he could to the men and women. "Captain! Over here! Down Rupert! There are no cops!" His throat stung, his lungs were burning. But he got their attention, they all stopped and looked in his direction.

The Captain looked down Wardour at Sherlock, their eyes met in the beautifully lit up street full of Chinese lanterns and the glow of neon signs of closed shops that surrounded them. Everything seemed to slow down, from the sound of sirens to the men and women screaming at him to make a decision. He blinked, his heart was beating slow as warmth overtook him. He swallowed hard, tilting his head at this stranger. He had no choice but to trust him. "Go! Follow him! Now!" Down Rupert Court!" The Captain said as he shook himself out of his trance, taking off with his platoon towards Sherlock who stepped aside to let the men and women rush past him. "You too!" The Captain said as he grabbed Sherlock by the shirt collar, nearly dragging him as he slid around the corner.

Sherlock tensed as he was dragged, even though he was about a foot taller than this Captain, he found it hard to keep up. He found himself focusing more on the Captain's face than the movement of his own body however, he was so... handsome. "Focus! Look ahead and run Civvy!" The Captain yelled at him, finally letting go of his collar to allow the Detective to run at his own pace. Rupert Court was a small alleyway, maybe two people could run side by side comfortably without tripping over one another.

Sherlock was panting hard as they all exited out of Rupert Court and onto Rupert street, Sherlock knew this city like the back of his hand. "Captain, if you and your platoon keep heading down Rupert Street, to the right, then take a left onto Shaftesbury Avenue you will come to Piccadilly Circus Station on your left. You can go underground and lose them!" Sherlock said through sharp gasps, resting his hands on his knees. Everyone was looking at him oddly, a familiar look he had grown used to by now. But the Captain? He was smiling at him beneath his mask. "Or... Or you can just split up at Piccadilly Lights in the center in either direction you choose." Sherlock mumbled, suddenly feeling shy with the Captain's gaze on him.

"I like you, Civvy." The Captain said with a hearty laugh, patting Sherlock lightly on the back who couldn't help but blush. "Here." The Captain said as he pulled a notepad from his left trouser pocket, scribbling something down in pen before ripping the paper and passing it to the Detective.

"Really, sir? Is this the time?" Asked one of the men in the crowd of Veterans, his flak jacket had the last name 'Hughes' stitched into the tan camouflage under the right breast pocket. Sherlock took the paper in his hands as he snuck a peek at the Captain's last name, only to find it had been skillfully cut off and discarded. The Captain chuckled.

"You're right, I apologize." The Captain said as he pointed to the right. "Let's all split up at Piccadilly Lights and meet back at checkpoint Omega." The camera that was streaming live footage was still rolling, the Captain couldn't outright say where Omega was. Even if he did want this very... stunning civilian to meet up with them there. "Everyone ready?" The Captain asked the platoon who responded with 'Yes, sir' before they all started off down Rupert Street. The Captain, however, stopped about fifteen feet from Sherlock and turned back to face him. "Thank you for your help." He said with another warm smile before taking off down the road. "Hope to see you again!" He yelled, leaving Sherlock standing in the middle of the street.

Now Sherlock Holmes wasn't a man that easily caught feelings, so to speak. He prided himself on his cold demeanor towards people and liked to keep his 'friends' just out of arms reach, for their own safety of course. But there was something about the way this Captian looked at him that just made the world feel... whole again. He sighed, looking down at the notebook paper he held in his hands for a moment before opening it. He blushed madly as he realized the Captain had written down a phone number. Oh. Oh, dear. He felt like his heart was going to explode as the tips of his ears turned red. But the feeling didn't last long as he was tackled harshly to the ground, the paper landing in a puddle just a few inches from his hand. "What the fuck do you think you are doing, Sherlock!?" Came an all too familiar voice. Goddammit, Lestrade.

"Oh, just out for a stroll!" Sherlock practically wheezed out from under the weight of the Inspector, a shit-eating grin on his face. Lestrade wasn't having it tonight, their suspect just got away. 

"You let them getaway! You let the whole lot of them getaway! We had them cornered, you damn fool! You do realize we were playing the Captain's live footage to track him right!? We know you just aided in the escape of those men and women! You aided in the escape of a damn criminal!" Shouted Lestrade who was already pulling out handcuffs to restrain the Detective, several more cops arrived in cruisers and on foot to surround him.

"Oh, is that who that was? My apologies! Really I mean it!" Lied the Detective through his teeth as the handcuffs were clasped around his wrists. Donovan stepped out from the alleyway behind her boss and then rounding around to the front of Sherlock who laid on the cold ground.

"What's this?" She asked, a smile on her face as she carefully picked up the soaked notebook paper that had fallen into the puddle. "Did your boyfriend write you a little love note?" She asked, smirking to herself as she opened the note delicately. She scowled though, the fresh ink had smeared as it came into contact with the water, effectively making it useless trash.

"Don't worry about the note, Sally." Lestrade said as he pulled Sherlock off the ground. "Sherlock here has the mind of a steel trap, remember? All we have to do is pry it out of him."

Sally's face dropped, she looked defeated. "How on Earth do you expect us to do that? This bastard won't talk for anything and you know it!" She said with an irritated growl, dropping her arms to her side as a car door shut quietly behind her.

"Leave that to me, Ms.Donovan." A soothing voice called from behind her, causing Sally to turn and step aside to reveal Mycroft. He looked amused, stepping forward to his little brother who looked anything but pleased to see him. "If there is one person on this Earth that can pry secrets out of a steel trap, it is me." 


	3. Sibling rivalry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is taken to Scotland yard for interrogation, conducted by his brother Mycroft. Will Sherlock be able to stave off his brother's questions? Or will the number the Captain gave him be pulled from his mind by force?

Mycroft sat across from his little brother, casually sipping the tea that had been brought to him by Lestrade. His eyes burrowing holes through Sherlock who sat handcuffed across from him in the dimly lit room. "You know how this is going to go, Mycroft." Sherlock said seriously, eyes glimmering with rage as he too stared holes through his brother.

Mycroft sighed, setting his styrofoam cup down onto the cold, metal table that separated them. "I do. I just want to know why you are putting up such a fight for a man you never met before until tonight. A stranger that is so hell-bent on 'saving' London's less fortunate and others in danger, all while breaking several laws. You do know he has several cases of assault against him? Trespassing, loitering and not to mention the several fines form the FCC for inappropriate, unregulated live stream content?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, huffing as he rested his hands on the table. The metal from the handcuffs rattled lightly against the metal. "I just believe that this Captain is doing a better job at serving London than Scotland Yard ever has. Hell, he is doing a better job than I ever have. I may solve peoples' murders, but he is saving their lives." Sherlock said seriously, leaning back in his chair as he looked at his brother. Mycroft looked confused at first, then his eyes widened, a smile spreading across his face.

"Oh dear, little brother. Could it possibly be true?" The eldest asked as he leaned forward, closing the gap between them. "Are you in love?"

Sherlock blushed a deep crimson, his mouth hanging open as he stammered out nonsense, the blush spreading to his ears and almost down his neck. "Nonsense. I do 'not' feel love. It is a chemical defect in the brain that blurs all reasonable thoughts! It clouds the mind and makes you do all sorts of ridiculous things!"

"Like help a group of vigilantes escape into the night while the cops are chasing them?" Mycroft asked with a short burst of laughter, a hand pressed over his chest. Sherlock looked away and down to the floor as he cursed under his breath. The blush never fading from his cheeks.

"It isn't like that, Mycroft." Sherlock spat hatefully. "You know the people of London look up to the Captain, you know they see him as their white knight! Just last week he stopped over fifty women and children from being sold off in some shipping container! Something Scotland Yard and 'you' failed to prevent! The only reason the cops arrived at that harbor was to arrest the Captain and the Veterans with him!" Sherlock was practically foaming at the mouth now in his anger, his fists slamming hard onto the metal table before him. "He is giving the people hope. Something I have never been able to do... Something none of us have been able to do. Why does that make him a criminal?" He asked quietly, looking up to his brother now. "Because the way I see it? It doesn't, it makes him a hero."

Mycroft sighed, rubbing his temples as his elbows rested on the table. His eyes closed as he opened his mouth to speak. "Sherlock, please listen to yourself right now. You sound like one of those people who are star struck by this man. A vigilante who has taken the law into his own hands! We have copy cats running in the streets in second-hand military gear! We have protests demanding the protection of this man! This has thrown London into chaos! Why are you protecting him!?" Mycroft asked in a shout.

"Because he served this goddamn country in Afghanistan! Doesn't he deserve to have someone at his back now that he is home!?" Sherlock growled back, his teeth clenched tight.

Mycroft froze, calmly blinking as a smile spread across his face. "Afghanistan? Why Sherlock... Did you deduce this man in your short time with him?" He asked, his hands folding calmly on the table as his head tilted ever so slightly. Shit, Mycroft was reading him now. "You did, didn't you? What else did you pick up on, little brother? Perhaps a name? The day he came back from war? Perhaps an injury?" Sherlock looked up and away at the ceiling, praying to whatever God was listening to strike Mycroft down right now. "Interesting, little brother... Very interesting. I am no longer interested in the phone number he gave you, for it seems you have more vital information tucked away."

Sherlock went to speak, to say something to shut Mycroft up, but Lestrade opened the door to the interrogation room. A look of surprise on his face. "Mycroft, someone is here to pay Sherlock's bail."

"Who on Earth could that possibly be?" Mycroft asked as he stood from his chair but froze as a towering, very built, strawberry blonde appeared behind Lestrade. He had the eyes of a serial killer, the smile of a criminal mastermind. A sniper, cold-blooded, the name under his right breast pocket read 'Moran'. Mycroft's face must have spoken everything he was thinking for this man laughed. Lestrade stepped aside, looking to his partner with a look of concern.

"The name is Sebastian Moran, Colonel Sebastian Moran. The platoon pulled together some cash from our own pockets along with some very angry Civvies who want to see the Detective walk. That little show the Captain put on last night really tugged on some heartstrings, I guess. You have a whole hoard of pissed off people outside of Scotland Yard right now, would be a damn shame if they stormed in here and caused a riot." Tsked the Colonel as he pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his right breast pocket, placing one in his mouth as he lit it with a faulty zippo.

"There's no smoking in here." Lestrade said seriously as he went to grab the cigarette from the Colonel's mouth, but that was a wrong move. The Colonel grabbed Lestrade's wrist like a vice, throwing him forward and placing a hard kick to the center of his back. Sending the Inspector tumbling to the floor at Mycroft's feet.

The Colonel crouched down as he placed the cigarette back between his lips, calmly lighting it with the zippo and taking a small drag before blowing the smoke in the Inspector's face. "Touch me again and I promise you that I'll skin you like a tiger with a hunting knife." The Colonel stood back up, taking another drag as he looked towards Sherlock now. "The Captain sends his thanks, don't fucking expect another 'get out of jail' card next time. I told him to let you rot in this fucking room, but I guess he likes you."

Lestrade scrambled to his feet, rage in his eyes as he pulled out his pistol and shoved it against the Colonel's chest. "You just assaulted and threatened an officer! Hands behind your back, now!" He shouted as Mycroft analyzed the situation before them. The Colonel laughed, it was an ungodly sound. Like demons prying open the gates of Hell.

"Do you really think I would come in here without protection of my own, Inspector Lestrade?" The Colonel asked as he slowly opened his unbuttoned flak jacket, revealing hand grenades with a string tied to each release pin. The Colonel held the string firmly in his hand, a twisted smile on his face. "Captain wants Sherlock here alive, but he didn't say I couldn't accidentally kill him if some hot-headed cop rubbed me the wrong way." He said as he took another calm drag of his cigarette. "I suggest you let me walk out of here."

"Holy shit!" Lestrade yelled as he jumped back, shielding Mycroft with his body. He went to scream but the Colonel calmly shushed him, the cigarette held firmly between his lips.

"If you go screaming about live ordinances, I'll have to be the bastard that pulled the pin on these fuckers. You don't want that, do you?" The Colonel asked with the twisted smile still plastered on his face. Lestrade swore under his breath, his pistol still clenched in his hands. "Let the Detective go, he walks out of here with me and no one has to die."

Lestrade looked to Sherlock who had been uncharacteristically quiet through this whole ordeal, the Detective was merely watching and analyzing like his brother, his head cocked to the side. "Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled, snapping Sherlock out of his trance. "Is this really the type of friends you want to be making!?" Asked the Inspector who put away his gun and fumbled with his keys for the handcuffs. Sherlock smiled.

"Well they certainly get straight to the point and I haven't seen a dangerous-looking one of them until today." Sherlock said with a smile as he rubbed his wrists as the handcuffs were taken off, the Colonel chuckled at that.

"Oh you think I'm bad?" The Colonel asked with a smile as he ripped the string attached to the grenades. "Then you are really going to like this." Lestrade went to yell for Mycroft and Sherlock to get down, but an explosion never came. Instead smoke started to pour out of the grenades, filling the room quickly as the flak jacket was tossed off and flung into the center of the room. Sleeping gas.

"What the fu-" Lestrade collapsed onto the floor, followed by Mycroft who had quickly pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket. The Government official was coughing madly as he slid down the wall next to the door as he breathed in the smoke.

Sherlock pressed his elbow over his nose and mouth, his eyes burning from the gas as he felt his way to the door. But a large hand grabbed him by the collar, dragging him out of the room and down the hall. He moved faster than the Captain, he was stronger than the Captain. "Take deep breaths, Civvy!" The Colonel yelled as he tossed Sherlock over his shoulder like some ragdoll cat. Sprinting out of the building and attracting the attention of many officers who were wondering what in the Hell was going on, the smoke alarms were going off in every corner of Scotland Yard.

"I can run on my own, thank you!" Sherlock yelled, blushing as he had never been tossed over another man's shoulder before.

"Like Hell you can! You were winded running from your flat to Soho last night!" Yelled the Colonel over the sound of the alarms as they busted through the front doors and onto the sidewalk. "The Captain says to give him a call anytime." The Colonel said as he sat Sherlock down on the sidewalk, an adrenaline-filled smile on his face. "Or a text, whatever you want, just pick up a burner phone. Can't have them pinpointing the Captain can we?" The Colonel asked with a wink as he started walking towards Big Ben. 

"Wait! You are just going to leave me here!?" Sherlock asked, still rattled from everything that just happened. The Colonel sighed, walking back up to Sherlock and leaning down in his face. 

"You said you could run, I suggest you start running. Go to your flat, go to a shop. I don't care, just don't follow me around like some lost puppy. Okay?" The Colonel straightened back up before turning to run down the street, leaving Sherlock standing on the corner as the sounds of sirens came from the opposite direction of which this Moran fellow had started running. Sherlock was now seriously wondering what in the Hell he had gotten himself into.


	4. The Captain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Captain goes about his normal duties during the daylight hours, only to be texted by an unknown number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter, today is family dinner day.

He was busy, he was always busy. He walked down alleyways and through the shadiest areas of London looking for anyone that needed medical attention. He wore a black surgical mask and civilian clothes to blend in better, especially after the day before. Cops were out looking for him, they were on his tail, looking for him like he was some wild animal loose in the city. He shook his head and smiled, he was just a man, a man who wanted to help others. That was the reason he became a doctor and joined the military, to help people. That's where his heart belonged. This is where he belonged.

John carried a duffel bag full of medical supplies and medicine at his side, his steely blue eyes scanning the homeless who lined the walls and slept in their tents. Everyone seemed okay, no one was coughing or vomiting, for now. But he decided to stop at a man who was curled up with his knees pulled to his chest and arms folded over his chest, there was no harm in asking. He gently placed a warm hand on the man's knee, shaking him lightly. "Sir? Are you okay? Is there anyone here that needs medical attention?" He asked calmly and softly, not wanting to scare him.

The man raised his head, blinking in confusion for a moment before a smile spread across his face. "Captain?" He asked as John pressed a finger up to his covered lips to signal him to lower his voice. But he was smiling too, it was good to know that the homeless people could see through his civilian disguise. "I'm okay, just cold... You know how it is." The man said with a chuckle, rubbing his arms. "I don't think anyone here is sick, just trying to stay out of other peoples' way." 

John nodded, setting down his duffel bag and unzipped it before rummaging around for a moment. "Here." John said with a smile as he pulled out a blanket, it wasn't much but it was something. It was his, but he could always get another, he still had some money in his account from his time in the military. He wouldn't get paid until the next month, but this man needed it more than him.

The homeless man's eyes light up as he took the folded blanket, he looked like he was going to cry. "Captain, I can't take this." He said in a whisper, his thumbs running over the coarse fabric. John smiled, placing his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Yes you can, think of it as an early Christmas present from me. Okay? Besides, I don't need you getting hypothermia, it's supposed to snow tonight." John zipped up his bag before standing and starting to walk away, he didn't want to give the man another chance to argue with him about it. Homeless people were generally very humble, some didn't want any help at all. They felt ashamed of their situation, even if how they got on the streets was a series of bad luck.

John started to think about how he ended up on the streets, it wasn't a series of bad luck, no. He was on the streets because he chose to be here. He had enough money for a modest flat, he could probably get a job at Saint Bart's as a trauma surgeon. He could then buy a nicer flat with all the food and warm blankets he wanted, but he couldn't do that knowing the people he fought with in Afghanistan were suffering. That they were out here fighting for their next meal while he was set, he shook his head, no. He couldn't comfortably live like that, he needed to be out here with them. 

John found himself wandering again, his eyes glued to the sidewalk as he walked. He looked up and observed his surroundings, he was at Harrington Square Gardens. Better known as checkpoint Alpha. He sighed and decided to take a seat at one of the benches, tossing the duffel bag next to him as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He didn't get much sleep in his nights on the street. Between the live stream that lasted up to five hours, starting at midnight, to wandering the streets almost all day. He was exhausted.

John jumped though when he heard his phone ding with a message, odd, usually his sister called him. Never a text message. He dug into his trouser pockets and pulled out his old flip phone, opening it to see a text from an unknown number. The message simply stated. "Thank you." John blinked at it for a few moments, tilting his head like a golden retriever as he tried to guess who the hell this was. It could be anyone.

"Who is this?" John texted back.

"I have to say, the Colonel really knows how to put the fear of God into a man. Is he a sniper? Possibly a Marine Sniper?"

John looked at the message for a moment, then at the number. This had to be one of his platoon members. "I never asked him, Colonel Moran isn't a man you can exactly sit down and talk to. He tends to go into graphic details about his time in the military. Things I do not wish to relive, you know how it is."

"I cannot say that I do, seeing as I never served. Though I can imagine the graphic scenarios that you were put through."

Oh? This was... odd. John leaned forward now, elbows resting on his knees as he held the phone in both hands. He was trying to think, but his exhausted mind was coming up with nothing. "Who is this?" John asked again.

"I cannot tell you that, I cannot go into too much detail. I bought a burner phone to message you, I had it encrypted by one of my acquaintances. But it is nothing compared to the technology you have for your live streams. Is the woman I heard talking the other night on the television a technology specialist? It would explain how she created an encryption so flawless that not even my nosey relative can hack."

John gulped, nearly dropping his phone. This was getting very dangerous. Whoever he was texting was smart, dangerously smart. They pegged Staff Sargent Katilyn Briars, his technology specialist from a kilometer away. He looked back down at his phone, unsure what he could even reply with, but thankfully the unknown number texted him again.

"Lunch? That is if you are not busy. I was thinking somewhere private with no cameras, maybe Regent's Park at The Hub. I will buy you something warm to drink and some food."

John rubbed his face, looking to his right to where the park was just a few kilometers away. He was playing a dangerous game meeting this stranger, but he was so curious and he was never one to run away from danger. "Sure, what time?" He texted back, already grabbing his bag and standing.

"I am already here, join me when you are ready."


	5. Picnic in Regent's park.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to meet the person who has been texting him at The Hub.

John stood at the end of Regent's Park on the Outer circle left of Macclesfield Bridge, he was observing, watching for cops. He looked dead ahead to The Hub across the grass where this person told him to meet them, he could see a figure sitting at one of the tables outside at a picnic bench. He weighed his options, wondering if this was a trap, or indeed a friend. He sighed, adjusting the duffel bag hanging off his left shoulder, his hand resting on the thick canvas material. He started to walk out of the park, shaking his head until he heard his phone beep with a text tone.

"This isn't a trap, Captain. I only wish to speak with you, to learn more about you. You are quite an interesting individual."

John turned back and looked at The Hub, the figure hadn't moved, they were just sitting there. He sighed heavily again before starting across the grass, the entire time he was looking around for cops. As he closed the space between him and The Hub as the figure became more clear, he felt the same sensation he felt that night he was running from the cops. Time slowed down, his heart raced in his chest as he met those bright blue eyes. It was the same man who saved his ass back at the China Gate. That stunning, dark curly-haired civilian, he had forgotten in his exhaustion that he had given his number to this man. The one he bailed out of jail for the trouble he went through in helping him escape on live feed.

Sherlock smiled, the corner of his lips turning up as he too took in the sight of the Captain. He was even more stunning in the daytime, his greying blonde hair looked like glowing gold in the afternoon sun. Those smiling eyes made his heart beat faster, his hands tingled with unknown energy. "Hello, Captain." He said fondly, extending his hand to the empty space between them. "Have a seat, will you?" He asked, his movements slow as if he was dealing with a wild animal.

John chuckled, setting down the bag on the edge of the picnic table to the left of the Detective before extending his own hand and taking Sherlock's into his. Both men shook, but couldn't deny the strange feeling in both of their hearts as skin met skin. "I forgot that I had given you my number." John said, still holding Sherlock's hand softly. "I haven't been sleeping well in the last six months, I am always moving to keep the cops guessing."

Sherlock chuckled, not minding that John was holding his hand for just a little too long. No, he didn't mind it at all. "That is quite alright, but that cannot be healthy for your mind. You need to stay sharp, Captain. After all, you are trying to make this world a better place."

Slowly both men let go of the other as John took the seat across from Sherlock, resting his arms on the table and rubbing his cold hands together. "I am just taking care of the people this world has forgotten about." He said with a shrug, he couldn't look away from the Detective's eyes. They were pulling him in.

"Still, you must take a break once in a while." Sherlock said seriously, straightening his back. "Maybe announce on the television during your live stream that you need to take a little break. There is no shame in taking care of your personal health."

John chuckled, smiling wide. "I am the Doctor here, shouldn't I be the one giving you this speech?" He asked teasingly, lightly smacking Sherlock's hand that rested just centimeters from his.

Sherlock chuckled as well, he was so tempted to thread his fingers into the Captain's just then. "Maybe so, but you know I am right."

John hummed, nodding slowly. "You are right, I should take a rest. But who would help the people I make normal rounds with? I do have patients, believe it or not. Some of them are children with respiratory illnesses, I can't just stop showing up and expect them to be fine."

"That is why I will have my homeless connections helping them." Sherlock said simply, surprising John.

"You have connections to the homeless?" John asked, eyes wide as Sherlock nodded.

"Oh yes, I have many connections to the homeless community. You see, they provide me with information as they are the least suspicious people to overhear conversations and such. Some would argue they are invisible to us 'civilians' as your little group calls us. For their information I provide payment. Either in money or food, it is a win-win situation all around."

John blinked, oh he was 'really' starting to like this guy. "But how would they know which people to provide medical treatment to and what medicine to give?" He asked curiously.

"By your instructions, Captian." Sherlock dug out a map from his peacoat and spread it across the tabletop. "I know you have a pen, Captain. I want you to mark the locations of your patients, then I want you to write on the back the health concerns of your patients and the medicines they need."

To say John was surprised would be an understatement, this really wasn't what he was expecting when he came to The Hub. "Um, okay." He mumbled as he pulled a pen from his trouser pocket and started to mark the locations. "You think of everything, don't you?" John asked with a smile, glancing up at Sherlock as he worked.

Sherlock smirked. "Oh yes, I have a habit of planning ahead. Some call me 'The World's Greatest Detective.'" He said with a roll of his eyes. "I merely observe, there is nothing special about me."

John scoffed at that. "Oh please, I think you are amazing." He said honestly, not looking up from the map. Sherlock blushed a deep red at that, it spread to the tips of his ears.

"You do?" He asked, watching John mark the locations carefully and with precision.

"Well you did save my ass the day before yesterday and you had a phone specially encrypted to just talk to me. I say that is pretty impressive." John murmured as he worked, flipping over the map now as he wrote names and medical advice.

"Oh please, it is nothing really." Sherlock said, rubbing the back of his neck. John stopped suddenly, his brow furrowing. He slowly looked up at Sherlock, realization coming over him.

"You." John said, sitting upright and looking over the Detective a few times. "You are Sherlock Holmes, aren't you? I have read about you in the paper a few times, you are the guy that solves all the cases for Scotland Yard. Why are you helping me?" John looked around in a panic, eyes wide as he scanned the area for cops. Sherlock grabbed his hand though, his eyes almost pleading.

"Captain, this is not a trap. I promise you this isn't a trap. I am just trying to help you." Sherlock said, his hand sliding to John's wrist and grabbing it lightly.

John's body tensed, his pupils pinpoint in that thousand-yard stare. "How can I trust you? Yes, you did save me, you saved my whole platoon. But how do I know you don't have a wire on you? Or that the cops aren't moments away in grabbing me? This map can really fuck me over if the police got their hands on it, they will know where to watch for me." John was almost growling now beneath his black surgical mask, his nails digging into the table.

"If this was a trap, Captain. Why would I choose an open-aired location? A location where you can see your entire surroundings? A location without cameras, might I add. The Hub is surrounded by glass, you can see through the entire cafe! No, if I were going to trap you, I promise you it would be far more elaborate than this. Perhaps in a warehouse with few exits, hell, a warehouse with nothing but a wall to your back. I am trying to help you."

John was baring his teeth, Sherlock could see the tension in his jaw. "Why? Why are you helping me? You don't know anything about me!" He snapped, but never pulled his hand out of Sherlock's hold.

Sherlock sighed, tilting his hand as he started a more accurate observation of the Captain. "You were shot in your left shoulder, inches from your heart. By the way, you have been wheezing the entire time we have been talking. It could be pneumonia starting or you contracted tuberculosis overseas while recovering from your shoulder wound. They didn't give you that vaccine before shipping you over, or did your pride tell you that your immune system was strong enough? You are left-handed. Judging by the tan line on your left wrist I say you have been back in England for about six months, England doesn't get much sun. Let me see your phone." Sherlock demanded.

John was reeling from all of this. "What? My phone why do you need my phone for?" He asked, but Sherlock was staring at him so much intensity that he dug into his trouser pocket and pulled it out before passing it over. Sherlock took one glance at the front and then the back.

"Harry Watson, but that isn't your name. No, this is a very old model. This was given to you, I would say a relative. A relative that is an alcoholic, you can tell by the scratches near the charging port. The same scratches you see next to the ignition key of a car of a high functioning alcoholic that thinks they are safe enough to drive. A brother possibly?" Sherlock asked John who was staring at him in total disbelief. "Sounds about right, yes?" Sherlock asked before casually tossing the phone back to the Captain who barely caught it.

John just stared at Sherlock, his expression blank and full of so many questions. Sherlock was use to this look. "How did you do that? What are you?"

Sherlock smiled. "As I said, Captain. I am simply a man that observes his surroundings and the people around him. Food?" He asked, standing from the table to enter The Hub.

"Uh, yes please." John stammered, standing with the Detective who motioned for him to sit back down.

"This is my treat, I asked you to join me here. I would ask you how you take your tea, but we both know I already know the answer to that." Sherlock smirked before disappearing into the cafe for a moment, coming back out with one sandwich and a cup of tea. He passed it to John who was still sitting in stunned silence, looking up at Sherlock.

"Thank you." John said quietly, looking down at the hot drink and sandwich.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked who took his seat back across from the Captain.

"You got one thing wrong." John said with a smile beneath his mask.

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "I did? What would that be?"

"Harry is my sister, short for Harriet." John said with a smile, chuckling now. "The phone was a gift from her girlfriend Emma, they are on the verge of a break up now. The alcoholism and all that." He said with a wave of his hand.

"Ah! Sister! I should have considered that." Sherlock said with bright eyes and a smile, his fingers drumming on the table.

"Yes, I suppose you should have." John was looking around now, for cameras and cops. He sighed, slowly taking off his mask to eat.

Sherlock blushed furiously as he saw the Captain's entire face, God he was... Handsome. Even with an unkempt beard and a thin layer of dirt on his face, the Captain was, oh God he was stunning. John looked up as he sipped his tea, noticing the expression on Sherlock's face.

"What?" John asked, looking behind himself and then back at the Detective. "What's the matter?" Sherlock looked away, his blushing only worsening.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Sherlock mumbled, staring at the cafe now.

John shook his head, chuckling. "You are very strange, Sherlock."

"I get that a lot." Sherlock admitted, rubbing his shoulder as John ate his meal and drank his tea.

"I do have a question to ask you, Captain Watson." Sherlock said, recovering from his shyness as he looked to the man.

"What would that be?" John asked, focusing on his food.

"After you make tonight's announcement about taking a few days off... Would you like to stay at my flat? Just for the few days you are not working, that is. I think an actual bed and warm air would do you good, I have to admit that the wheezing is concerning me."

John looked up, surprised. "You want me to spend a few nights at your flat? Isn't your place being watched?"

"Possibly, I have a very nosey brother. But if you are to dress in a disguise and arrive at my place, my brother may just assume you are a client with a late-night case for me."

"What will he think when I do not leave in the morning?" John asked with a smile. "I hope you've already come out to him, I believe this would be an awkward way for him to find out." John said with a laugh.

Sherlock almost squeaked as blood rushed to his face again, but he couldn't help but laugh. "My brother is dating Gregory Lestrade, the Inspector of Scotland Yard. A bisexual man who was married to a God awful, cheating woman. I don't believe he will be quite at all put off with a man staying the night in my flat, he might even be thrilled. I haven't been known to be a person that gets along well with others."

John hummed. "Good for them both, everyone needs someone. I'm bisexual myself, maybe even pansexual. I'm still learning all the terms and where I fit on the spectrum." John admitted honestly. "I'd date someone who was nonbinary, transgender, or whatever as long as they have a kind heart. My technology specialist that you mentioned early in text? Transgender Woman, very lovely. You'd get along with her nicely, though she can be blunt. No beating around the bush with her." He chuckled. "Unlike her partner, Arthur Hughes. He is selective mute sometimes under high stress, a very gentle person."

Sherlock smiled, God this man was so pleasant to be around. "I believe I saw this Hughes gentleman the day before yesterday when we were fleeing from the cops. He wasn't too thrilled with you handing out your number to me."

John grinned. "I have a habit of flirting with cute guys, also guys who save my ass in a tight situation."

Sherlock nearly choked on his own spit, his blushing returning. Did this man just call him cute to his face? "Oh, I see." Sherlock said, coughing into his hand as he tried to recover from his shock. "About staying at my flat, are you willing to do that?" He asked, rubbing his chest.

John shrugged. "Sure, I just have to tell Kaitlyn about my plans. Hopefully, she doesn't chew me out for staying with you. She doesn't trust anyone that isn't in a military uniform, she has had some bad run-ins with civilians. Oh, that's my technology specialist, Kaitlyn Briars. I wonder how London will react to me taking three days off... Hopefully, no one goes lighting cars on fire or picking on the homeless."

Sherlock chucked. "Let Scotland Yard deal with it for a few nights, you need to recover. I am sure they can handle London for three days." Sherlock said as he stood from the table, John had finished his meal. He offered his hand to the man once more. "It was nice meeting you, Captain Watson."

John smiled, standing as well as he placed his mask back on. He took Sherlock's hand into his, squeezing it tight. "Call me John, Sherlock. It was nice meeting you too." Sherlock's heart fluttered in his chest, he was finally able to put a name to the face of the legendary Captain.


	6. The first night together.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Captain's late-night announcement, he goes to 221B to stay for a few nights.

The announcement aired at midnight over everyone's television in London, England. "Tonight I would like to make an announcement, one that none of you would expect to hear from me, I am sure." John started, a smile on his face below the mask he wore to hide his identity. "I am going to be taking three days off to work on my health." He stated. "I am not sure if the camera is picking it up, but I am wheezing quite a fair bit." He held up his hand as if to calm everyone's nerves, the smile never leaving his face. "Don't worry about me, I am sure that is nothing but the cold air getting to me. As for the patients that I see on regular nights and days, my platoon will be checking in on you along with some help that I have... Let's say hired. They will be coming around with medicine, blankets and food for all of you. You will not go without in my absence, I have made sure of that. As for the criminals in London, do not think for one moment that this means you are safe. You aren't, you will never be safe working within London. My team is still out there looking for you and they will stop you." He said seriously, that trademark smile fading into a serious scowl. He raised his head then, nodding towards the camera to an unknown individual that was operating it. The feed clicked off after the brief words of the Captain, everyone's reflections staring back at them from their television screens.

Sherlock was trying not to pace, he was trying to remain calm about all of this. Yes, this was his idea to have the Captain take a break and stay with him for a few days, but something was eating at him. That energy he felt when he touched the man's hand, the fluttering in his chest when he saw John's face as he took off his mask to eat at The Hub. He stared down at his left palm, flexing his fingers for a moment as Mrs.Hudson cooked in his kitchen. She was trying to make a nice meal for this stranger, this hero of London. She was talking to him, but there was this ringing in his ears that muffled any sound. "Mrs.Hudson?" He said quietly, the landlady peeking around the corner to observe the obviously flustered Detective. "I feel strange." He mumbled, raising his head slowly to look at her.

Mrs.Hudson smiled, wiping her hands on a dishtowel before walking over to her tenant of several years and extending her right hand to take Sherlock's into her's. "Strange how?" She asked, rubbing a soothing, almost motherly like touch over his palm.

Sherlock went to speak, but for once in his life, he couldn't find the words to express the emotions he was feeling. "Sick? No." He muttered to himself, squinting down at his hand that was held gently by his landlady. "When we shook hands, the Captain and I, I felt something. Energy, like electricity." He whispered, head cocking to the side as he tried to turn inward and study himself. "Like I was greeting an old friend, a friend that I have known my whole life. A friend that I..." He stopped himself, the words leaving his lips in a soft exhale.

"A friend that you love?" Mrs.Hudson asked, a smile spreading across her face as she looked up to the Detective who blushed a deep shade of crimson.

"I have never felt 'love' before, Mrs.Hudson. You know I consider it a chemical defect that causes you to lose focus, a chemical defect that causes you to make mistakes." He said seriously, dropping his hand to his side.

Mrs.Hudson sighed, still smiling as she stood before Sherlock, placing her hands on her hips. "You know, your brother said the same thing. Now, look at him! Dating Inspector Gregory Lestrade for almost four years now. Has he made a mistake? No. How do we know this? London has yet to fall since he has found love and he is even smiling more! Something I do truly love seeing you do from time to time." The landlady said with a smirk as she nudged the Detective playfully.

Sherlock scoffed, but couldn't help the corners of his lips turning up into a smile. Mrs.Hudson was wonderful to be around. "I suppose that is an accurate deduction, though I can't help but wonder if I am making a mistake. Me of all people, Mrs.Hudson, to make a mistake." 

"Sherlock, you are human. Despite what the papers say, what everyone says about you? You are human. Life is about making mistakes and learning from them, that is just how life is. For all of us. How many science experiments have gone completely off the rails for you before? How many failures did you come across in your studies before you found the right solution? That is life, life is one big science experiment for us all and we are all just taking notes on how to do better the next time life gives us a chance." Mrs.Hudson said quietly, petting the Detective's arm. "Failure teaches us to do better, to try harder. Failure is not the final door closing on you, it never is. Besides, you are Sherlock Holmes! You'd probably blow a damn hole in the wall and make your own solution like you've done to my poor flat before!" She said teasingly, smacking him on the arm.

Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle at that, hanging his head and shrugging his shoulders lightly. "How many times do I need to apologize for that before you let it go?" He asked, making Mrs.Hudsone giggle as she turned back to the kitchen.

"As many times as you can!" She teased, going back to the stove as there was a loud knock at the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Sherlock inhaled lightly, his eyes lighting up. "He is here, just like he promised he would be." He whispered, flinging open his flat door and racing down the stairs. He stopped though, giving himself a once over in the reflection of a photograph that hung on the wall. He looked, okay or decent really. He had showered and dressed appropriately just a few hours beforehand, black trousers and a silk purple dress shirt. He shook his head, catching himself acting silly, this was merely a friend. Nothing more. He sighed before opening the door. "Hello." He greeted about as tamely as he could, but electricity once again shot through his body as he met those steely blue eyes and that trademark smile.

"Hello again." John said with a chuckle, extending his hand towards Sherlock as he had done at The Hub. "I'm surprised you recognized me dressed like this." He said, motioning to his very plain civilian outfit consisting of a jumper and denim trousers. "I went to a second-hand shop and picked this up, I paid with cash of course. I couldn't have anything tracing back to me if I needed to leave this behind."

Sherlock smiled, taking John's hand into his, both men reveled in the strong energy that never died as skin once again met skin. The Detective couldn't help but fall in love with the feel of the calloused hands in his, the hands of a man who worked tirelessly with them. "The black surgical mask is a slight giveaway now." He said with a smirk. "That and how could I forget a face like yours?" Sherlock blushed suddenly as John chuckled, his grip still firm in his hands. Did he just flirt?

"I could say the same thing about you." John winked, stepping inside now but never letting go of Sherlock's hand. He didn't want to let go, neither did Sherlock. Both men wanted this feeling to last. "Sorry about stepping inside like that, a cop car is coming up the street." John said with a sigh, closing the door with his foot as lights passed by the frosted glass. He took off his mask then, breathing in the smell of food. "Oh, I'm not interrupting dinner, am I?" He asked, a look of guilt washing over his face.

Sherlock shook his head, smiling now as he squeezed the hand in his. "No, in fact you are just in time for dinner. My landlady, Mrs.Hudson feeds all guests that come into our flat. She is very adamant about getting a warm meal to you." He said with a chuckle, pulling his hand away suddenly as Mrs.Hudson stood at the top of the stairs. He blushed lightly, knowing she had seen them holding hands.

"You must be the Captain! Oh, it is so good to finally meet you!" Mrs.Hudson started down the stairs, but John hurried to meet her halfway, smiling as he shook her hand.

"I heard you are making us dinner, I'm sorry to trouble you like that. It sure does smell wonderful in here though, I can't thank you enough for making me something hot to eat. I've been living off of MREs since my time back, they aren't bad, but having a proper meal sounds wonderful." John said with a chuckle, but Mrs.Hudson smacked his arm playfully.

"Nonsense, it is no trouble at all. After all, you are the 'hero' of London, we can't just have you eating scraps now, can we?" She said seriously, looking down the stairs at Sherlock who was still blushing and looking down at his left hand again that had been holding John's. "Sherlock! Don't just stand there, we have a guest!" She called to him, making him snap out of his thoughts and walk up the stairs behind John. He was trying so hard not to stare at... Well, everything about the Captain. "Come in! Come in!" Mrs.Hudson practically sang as she led the boys into the flat, John removed his boots at the door.

"The home of the great Sherlock Holmes." John said with a smile as he looked around, curious about the various documents laying about and the boxes stacked up in the corner. Sherlock noticed him looking and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Apologise about the mess, those are from previous cases. I like to keep them around as notes, I don't exactly have anywhere to keep them at the moment." Sherlock mumbled, suddenly becoming very self-conscious about the state of his flat. But John shook his head, smiling at Sherlock.

"You should go through and type them out on the computer, it would be much easier to file them and sort them under categories. Though it is always good to have paper documents, you can take them to court when a suspect you bring in goes to jail." John said happily, rubbing his chilled hands together. Sherlock nodded, that would make things much easier. Suddenly there was a whimper from John's duffel bag, making the Captain gasp lightly. "I'm sorry little guy! Did you want to meet Sherlock and Mrs.Hudson too?" He asked, setting down his canvas bag and unzipping it. Sherlock tilted his head, curiosity washing over him.

"What on Earth is that?" The Detective asked, just in time for John to pull out a four-week-old English bulldog from the canvas bag.

"This is Gladstone!" John beamed, cuddling the puppy close and blowing warm air against the puppy's fur and little ears. "I have been training him as a military service animal, he is such a good boy. He knows so many commands already!" Sherlock blinked, he had never seen the Captain with the puppy before on the live stream. This must be a new addition. "Is it alright that I have him here? I forgot to mention him to you at The Hub, I found him in a box outside of a grocery store in the cold. I couldn't just leave him there to freeze to death, I brought him a few tins of dog food as well. He has been staying with Staff Sargent Briars while I work."

Before Sherlock got a chance to speak, Mrs.Hudson was all over the puppy and cooing at it. "Oh, he is adorable!" She squealed, petting the puppy and squishing its little face gently. "Gladstone you said? What a wonderful name for an adorable baby! Of course, he can stay while you are here! Oh, I just want to make him a little sweater!" That made John chuckle, passing off the puppy to be loved on by the landlady.

Sherlock sighed with a smile, shaking his head at how silly, yet how happy Mrs.Hudson was. "Her word is law in this flat, so yes, he can stay with us while you are here. I would hate for him to go without his training and lose any progress you have made." The Detective said seriously. "Though I would like to see the commands you have taught him, I use to have a dog myself as a child. Though I never really trained him, he was more of a best friend that I got into trouble with."

John smiled up at Sherlock, their hands lightly touching again. "Thank you, it hasn't been easy balancing work and training, but there has been a lot of progress with him."

Sherlock was getting lost in some lewd thoughts just then. He was silently wondering if John could 'train' him in the same way. But the ding of the oven snapped him out of that. "Dinner is ready boys! You two just take a seat anywhere you like and I will bring you a plate!" Mrs.Hudson smiled as she passed Gladstone back to John, walking towards the kitchen as Sherlock directed the Captain to the living room chairs near the television.

Sherlock watched as John coddled the puppy, it was sweet seeing the man like this. He had a strange feeling that Gladstone had saved John more than he had saved him. There was a light in the Captain's eyes, one that had previously looked dull at The Hub. Another reason to keep fighting. But his eyes, his steely blue eyes shone bright tonight, especially when their eyes met. Mrs.Hudson brought them their food and excused herself downstairs, but not before making a heart with her hands to Sherlock behind John's back. Sherlock huffed, blushing as he turned towards his plate and picked at it shyly. "I see you have a file on me." John said, pointing at the manilla envelope on the table with 'The Captain' written on it. "Anything interesting in there?" He asked while he ate his food, sharing pieces with the puppy.

Sherlock looked down at the file, setting his plate aside to pick up the envelope. "Mostly speculations about your identity, all wrong might I add. They can't even pinpoint you from a military database without your name or full facial features. My brother is currently running a full-fledged scan with every soldier in the British Military who has been home within a year." John nodded slow, chewing his food and swallowing slowly.

"Then it is only time before they find me, they have tried arresting members of my platoon and getting information out of them. Via threats and other nonsense, but thankfully none of my men or women have cracked under the pressure. Then again, you can't exactly threaten us when we have been through Hell and back." John said seriously. "I did three tours of Afghanistan, that is twelve years I had spent over there in the worst conditions imaginable. I'm pretty sure if a person were to hold a gun to my head at this point, I wouldn't do much but become angry." He said seriously.

Sherlock nodded slowly as he deduced John quietly, his eyes slowly sliding in their sockets to his left shoulder. "I hate to ask, but how close was your injury to your heart? It must have been close, possibly shattered the scapula?" He asked quietly as John brought his hand up to his shoulder. Fingers pressing over, what he considered, an ugly mark.

"It was a clean shot, from front to back. Luckily it missed my heart by four centimeters, it tore through muscle and flesh on its way out. I still have some trouble with it, along with my lungs after contracting tuberculosis. I have been so used to scolding hot weather, that I believe this cold air is taking its toll on me. At least, that is what I am hoping is causing the wheezing, though I have been having chills more than normal." John sighed, setting aside his plate as he finished it. Sherlock drummed his fingers on the chair's armrest for a moment, thinking. "I bought you some clothes to wear while you are here, I took your measurements at the park, would you like to get a shower?" He asked, pointing towards his bathroom. "I can wash any clothes you have, that way you can return to work feeling a little better in your old gear."

John blinked in surprise, tilting his head. "Sherlock, you don't have to do that, honestly, I'm okay."

Sherlock shook his head, pointing at the shower again, a smile spreading across his face. "Take a shower Captain, that's an order." He teased.

John laughed at that, a sweet sound to Sherlock's ears. "Oh, giving orders now, are we? What else would you have me do?" John practically purred as he leaned forward, placing Gladstone down on the floor who instantly went to explore his surroundings.

Sherlock blushed, but he was smiling even more now. "Toss your clothes into the hallway, I will bring you a pair of pajamas and a change of boxers." 

John stood now, still smiling. "What makes you think I am wearing boxers to begin with?" John asked with a wink, heading towards the shower now and leaving Sherlock stunned in his seat. Oh the mental images he was having now.

John did as he was told, starting the shower and taking off all of his clothes, except for boxers that he wasn't wearing. He tossed the clothes into the hallway as Sherlock went into his room to grab the clothes he had just bought earlier that day. He couldn't help but look towards the bathroom door that lead into his room, the outline of the Captain could be seen through the fogged styled windows. He gulped, feeling his cheeks burning even more now. Dammit, he was being such a pervert now, but he couldn't help it. Everything about this man screamed handsome and sexy. Besides, he only glanced, it was harmless. "Here are your change of clothes." Sherlock called, setting the pair of pajamas outside the bathroom door in the hallway as he gathered up the old items.

"Oh, thanks!" John yelled as he opened the door, grabbing the clothes Sherlock had set out before shutting the door again. "My uniform is in my bag, feel free to dig around in there if you want." John called from the shower now.

Sherlock went to the canvas bag that sat next to the flat's front door, unzipping it as Gladstone waddled over and tried to climb in. "No, no. You aren't going anywhere." He mumbled to the puppy, lightly patting him on the head as he pulled out John's flak jacket and military trousers along with socks and such. But something caught his eye, dog tags at the bottom on the bag. They weren't John's, these belonged to someone else. A Sam Fraiser, blood type A positive and religion Pegan. Sherlock held them up, observing them closely. There were scratches in the metal, small dents and dried flecks of blood. This had to belong to someone who passed away, someone John had cared deeply for. But these were not British Military issued tags, these were American. "John?" Sherlock called as he placed the tags back into the bag, carrying the clothes to the washer with the rest in the kitchen. "Who is Sam Fraiser?" He asked, but got no response for what felt like an eternity.

"I'll tell you that in a moment." John said, his voice sounded flat. Almost sad. "It's a uh... Long story."

Sherlock nodded, turning back to the washer as he loaded the clothes in. He hit start and sighed, wondering if he had just made his first mistake with the Captain.


	7. The story of Sam Fraiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The sorrow we feel when we lose a loved one is the price we pay to have had them in our lives." - Rob Liano.

John had stepped out of the shower and gotten dressed before picking a chair by the television, wringing his hands together nervously as distant eyes stared at Sherlock’s shoes. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words to describe his relationship with Sam Fraiser, an American born Staff Sergeant. But Sherlock spoke first, hands folded in his lap as he looked at the man across from him. “You loved him.” He said quietly, eyes landing on the duffel bag next to the door where the tags lay hidden.

“Them.” John said within his own broken whisper, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips as he remembered the person he loved so dearly. “Gender non-conforming, they loved who they could pass as either male or female.” John hung his head as a small almost nonexistent laugh left his throat. “They were beautiful, I have a picture of them on my phone.”

Sherlock nodded, making a mental note of the preferred pronouns this Sam used, not wanting to misgender anyone out of respect of their memory. “What happened to them?” He asked as John fished the phone from his pocket, studying the Veteran closely. “I take something tragic happened. Fatally shot?” He asked gently as John turned his flip phone to the detective, setting it in his palm.

“They were shot right in front of me, I couldn’t save them.” John exhaled, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “They were shot right in the center of the head, between the eyes by a sniper we never found. I still don’t know who pulled the trigger to this day.” John wiped his eyes with the back of his left hand, Gladstone resting quietly in his lap. “We met when we were kids at the Northumberland army camp when my father was deployed, we made an instant connection which was rare for us Army brats.” John said with another small laugh again. “You know how it is, jumping from camp to camp. Never staying in one school long or getting to know the people around you. Everyone was a blur but Sam, they were my first real friend.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, examining the photograph passed to him carefully. The person in the picture was admittedly stunning, long blonde hair, fair skin, and deep blue eyes. A kiss of a tan from the Afghanistan sun that only made their blue eyes more magnificent. “You all reconnected as adults?” The Detective asked as he passed the phone back, John stared longingly at the photograph for a moment before closing his phone.

“Yes, it was unexpected.” John said with a smile, petting the pup in his lap absentmindedly. “I hadn’t heard from Sam in almost ten years, the last I saw of them they were headed to South Korea with his family to be stationed there. Then…” John trailed off to take a deep breath, anxiously rubbing Gladstone’s soft little ears. “One day I was in the canteen, in Afghanistan, when someone hugged me from behind. You could imagine my surprise seeing a face that looked all so familiar yet so grown up and beaming with joy.” John smiled now; eyes distant as he relived that moment. “It was like we never separated for all of those years; it was like we were kids again on an adventure to make the world a safer place. Helping people, playing with the kids in the streets, and secretly sharing rations with them. ‘Real-life superheroes’, Sam called us.” John said with a toothy smile now.

“John.” Sherlock said quietly, his heart hurt for the man.“You couldn’t have saved them, not from a headshot directly to the center of the skull. The chances of living from a fifty-caliber bullet to the brain are next to none.” The Detective said gently, knowing statistics helped him feel better. But he was not sure it would help John any. Grief was grief and it always took time to process. “How long ago did they pass away?”

John rested his chin in his hand now, staring at the couch that was up against the wall on the other side of the room. “Five years ago, but the image of Sam bleeding out in the desert sand will always stick with me.” The medic choked up now, biting the finger that rested against his lips. “Those blue, lifeless eyes staring at me as I was drug away in a Hell storm of gunfire.”

Sherlock frowned, offering a tissue gently to his new friend who took it with a shaking hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He said meekly, leaning forward now to place a hand on John’s knee. “But Sam would not want you to hurt like this, they knew the dangers of war. You knew the dangers of war.”

“It still doesn’t make the pain dull any less.” John whispered, squeezing the tissue in his hand. “It doesn’t make the nightmares any less painful, every time I close my eyes, I just see my partner bleeding out, lifeless before me and the sound of bullets hitting sand echoing in my ears.”

Sherlock swallowed hard, squeezing John’s knee now sympathetically. “John, I want you to stay with me. I want you to live at Baker’s street with me. I want to help you.” He whispered out, voice wavering as his eyes locked with John’s. “I want you to live the life Sam wanted for you.”

John looked confused, cocking his head to the side at the Detective as his own hand rested on Sherlock’s. Subconsciously lacing their fingers together which made electricity pulse through their bodies once more. “Sherlock, I have people to help on the streets. I can’t leave them; they need medicine and someone to take care of them.”

“Why does it have to be you?” Sherlock asked, squeezing John’s hand in his. “Can’t Briars and her partner take up the mantle? They seem quite competent.”

“I… I do not know. I just feel responsible for their wellbeing.” John whispered, his eyes dropping to the pup in his lap.

“You have been a Medic long enough for others, it’s time to worry about your wellbeing and happiness. Don’t you think?” Sherlock asked gently, a small smile on his face. “It’s your turn to let someone else care about you."

“Sherlock, I’m not someone you want in your home.” John whispered. “Look at me, I am a mess of a man, torn up by war and suffering.”

“John, with all due respect. I have seen the worse humanity has to offer; I have seen murder of the most violent kind. For once in my life I am looking at the best humanity has to offer. I am looking at a man that wants nothing more than to help others.” Sherlock whispered back. “I see someone who deserves to live the life their partner wanted for them.” He said as he squeezed John’s hand who offered the same affection. “Please, let me help you. At least let me take you to the hospital tomorrow for that wheeze and cough that nearly made you collapse in the shower.”

John smiled, blushing faintly from Sherlock’s praise. “Okay, but I need to speak to Hughes and Briars about my leaving, I’ll meet them tonight at Checkpoint Omega, Avondale Park. If I do not come back after that, something has happened, and I want you to look after Gladstone.”

Sherlock smiled at the pup resting in John’s lap and then at the Medic himself. “You, Captain Watson, have yourself a deal.”


	8. Standoff at Avondale Park.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What should have been a quiet night of conversation turns deadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for reading, this chapter took eight hours to write. I hope you enjoy!

John checked his pockets as he stood in Avondale park, making sure he grabbed the essentials before leaving Baker street. Gun, ammo and his mobile phone. He smiled as he looked at Sherlock, those blue eyes stunning in the moonlight and dim city lights. “You know…” John said as he stood next to the man, eyes looking down the man’s hand next to his. “You didn’t have to come.” 

“Yes I did.” Sherlock said with a smile, looking at John as hot air left his lips in soft white swirls in the freezing December air. “I quite enjoy nightly adventures.” 

John chuckled; mask pulled up over his nose once more even though he was dressed in the clean clothes Sherlock provided him after his shower. “I just hope Gladstone behaves for Mrs. Hudson, though I have a feeling that when we come back, he will be dressed in a freshly knitted sweater made just for him.” 

It was Sherlock’s turn to chuckle, casually hooking a finger around the Captain’s as they stood and waited for John’s platoon. John hummed, smiling as he moved his hand away to fully hold the Detective’s. There was something so oddly romantic about standing in an empty park, under the moon while on the run from the police. “I think that is them.” John whispered as he saw two figures appearing from the tree lines to their left. 

Sherlock looked to the figures approaching, smiling as he recognized the gait of Hughes from the other night. “I have a question about Hughes.” Sherlock said as he squeezed John’s hand. 

“Oh, what would that be?” He asked, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. His demeanor becoming more relaxed. 

“How did he lose his right leg?” Sherlocked asked, hoping his curiosity did not come off as rude. 

“Ah, he lost it due to infection. I was the one to perform the surgery to remove it since the hospital was putting off his surgery. Thankfully, I was able to buy some sedatives from one of the local drug dealers, so the procedure wasn’t too painful for him to endure.” John said with a smile as he waved to the two figures, Kaitlyn waved back with a smile. 

“My, oh my. Sherlock Holmes, the Sherlock Holmes I presume?” Kaitlyn asked as she approached with her partner Arthur Hughes who nodded with a soft smile to the Detective. 

“Nice to meet you.” Sherlock said with his own soft smile, extending his hand to the woman who took it with both and shook firmly. “I do hope tonight has been quiet for you both, nothing major to be pulled away from?” 

“Oh it has been quite alright, oddly quiet. I do apologize for our late appearance, Captain. But due to tonight’s odd calmness we circled the park to look for Scotland Yard. It seems to be all clear, but we may need to make this quick.” Kaitlyn said as Hughes started to look around to make sure the situation remained calm. 

“It’s alright Briars, it is always to be safe than sorry.” John said with a smile, rubbing Sherlock’s knuckle with his thumb gently. “I hope that this new information doesn’t upset you but…” John sighed, a smile on his face as he looked to the ground. “I am going to be moving in with Sherlock and passing off the mantle to you and Hughes. I think it is time that I leave the platoon and go help Bart’s hospital where my surgical skill will be put to good use.” 

Briars looked deflated, Hughes spun back around to show his surprise with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. “What?” Hughes said, looking equally deflated. “You’re leaving? Why?” 

“You know Colonel Moran isn’t going to like this.” Kaitlyn said seriously, folding her arms as she now scowled at the Captain. “You know how he feels about soldiers leaving the platoon. You know how he feels about-…” She stopped, looking down at the two men’s hands that were holding. A flash of fear went over her eyes, swallowing hard. “Captain, John… Please be careful. Please. You know how dangerous Colonel Moran is.” She whispered. 

Sherlock cocked a brow, studying Kaitlyn’s demeanor and to where she looked. “John?” Sherlock asked quietly, turning towards the Captain now, hand still in his. “Were you and Colonel Moran a-…” 

John held up his hand, stopping Sherlock there. “No, for some reason Colonel Moran has formed some sort of obsession with me and the feelings were not mutual. Ever since that man laid his eyes on me, he has been possessive, I do not know why either.” He explained, squeezing Sherlock’s hand tighter, hoping the Detective understood. 

Sherlock nodded, exhaling softly, thankful that he was not cheating with the Captain but now focused on what Colonel Moran may pull. “It seems I will be competing with a stalker of sorts.” He winked, making John and Kaitlyn laugh. 

“There is no competition at all really.” John said coolly, pressing Sherlock’s leather-gloved hand to his lips which made the Detective flush madly. 

“Captain.” Hughes said quietly, staring ahead at the tree lines. “We have more activity on the roads surrounding the park. I have a bad feeling about this.” He whispered, Kaitlyn joining her boyfriend to look out across the tennis courts. 

“Shit, backup is fourteen blocks away.” Kaitlyn hissed as she put her hand on her service weapon. “Should we call it in?” She asked John, looking over her shoulder. 

“It’s London, Hughes. There is always activity on the roads, maybe a movie just let out?” John said placing his hand on his weapon now, standing next to his two officers. 

“No theatre around here Captain, could be a late class.” He said, mentioning the campus on the same block. “But I don’t know a lot of students who have their own vehicles.” 

John chewed his lower lip, swearing under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair. “Call it in, I don’t like the looks of this either. Let’s camp out in the restrooms behind us, hopefully they aren’t locked up. We can barricade the door and wait for backup to arrive, call in the whole damn Platoon, even the Lost.” 

“The Lost?” Sherlock asked as they started towards the restrooms, Hughes shooting off a flair into the cloudy winter sky. 

John nodded, opening the door for Sherlock and his friends to file in. “The Lost is members of the platoon who defected to Civvy life, but always willing to lend a hand or get into a scrape if need be.” John stepped inside the bathroom once they were all inside, stripping off his jumper to try it around the handle and stretching it so it reached the first stall door and tied it around the gap. “There, should be a good minute before they can get the doors open if the cops do arrive. Briars wet some paper towels and stick them to that window, we don’t need them looking in here to see what we are doing.” John ordered, clicking the safety off his weapon. 

“Yes, Captain.” Briars said as she quickly raced to do as she was ordered, Hughes was already looking for an escape route. 

“There is an air vent here! Too small for you and me to fit into Captain, but Sherlock and Briars can get out. What do you think?” 

“Good find, we can raise them up so they can crawl through when it is all clear.” John said, squatting down some so he could lift Hughes up to loosen the vent. “Here, see if you can pry it off.” 

“I do hope that you do not plan on me letting you stay here and get arrested by Scotland Yard, John.” Sherlock said with a frown, offering a hand to raise Hughes up. 

“Remember our deal, Sherlock. I need someone to take care of Gladstone if I get in trouble.” John said pointedly as Hughes stepped up and started ripping off the vent with all his strength. “That dog could track me down in a tornado, you have to trust me.” 

“I do trust you! But I love you more!” Sherlock squeaked out, stumbling over his words, but it was too late, he was blood red and staring wildly into John’s eyes who was just as red in the face as the Detective was. 

“If you drop me to kiss him, Captain? I am going to kick your ass.” Hughes warned, smirking down at the two men as the vent finally popped off. “Got it!” 

John went to open his mouth as Hughes jumped down, swearing as he grabbed his prosthetic leg, the mix of the cold air and the drop hurting him bad. “Sherlock, I don’t know what to… what to say.” He whispered as Hughes went to help Briars cover the windows. “How could you, Sherlock Holmes, love someone like me?” He asked in a whisper, the tips of his ears red from the blush. 

“I would read you off the list I made of all the reasons I love you, but I feel like now would be a bad time.” Sherlock said with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck, looking down at the tiled floor of the restroom. John chuckled, rubbing his arm now. 

“Same here, though I didn’t make a list.” John said with a gentle smile, looking into Sherlock’s eyes. “Listen, if we make it out of here, I’ll take you on a proper date. One that doesn’t involve a public restroom and the cops.” John said seriously. 

“It will if I am lucky.” Sherlock said, surprising himself with his ability to flirt, making himself blush again along with John who broke out into a fit of laughter. 

“Stop flirting for a second.” Kaitlyn said, holding up her hand as the room grew silent, there was the soft sounds of boots on sidewalk outside the door. “One of ours?” She asked in whisper before the door tried to swing open before slamming shut again. Everyone grew tense, the three officers putting their hands on their service weapon. 

John licked his lips subconsciously, leaning close to Kaitlyn. “Say that you are in here, make it sound like a female Civvy who didn’t want to get snuck up on while using the loo. Get in the stall to make it sound more realistic.” He said as the jumper strained more as the door was tried yet again. 

Kaitlyn stepped into one of the stalls, swallowing hard before hollering. “I’m in here! Just a minute!” 

“Scotland Yard police department! Everything alright in there? A flair was shot off in the park, we thought someone was in distress.” Lestrade said, his pistol out of its holster and the safety clicked off with an army of SWAT behind him holding automatic rifles. “Is there anyone else in there with you?” 

“No, just me. I tied the door since it wouldn’t lock, and I didn’t want anyone coming in.” Kaitlyn said in a worried tone. 

“Miss I need you to open the door, we just need to check that everything is alright.” Lestrade said, shoulder pressed to the wall just outside the door. 

“We?” Kaitlyn said, looking at John who was trying to form a plan in his head quickly, he needed to get Briars and Sherlock out of there immediately. “I do hope you understand if I am a little skeptical about opening the door to the restroom in the dead of night for a stranger.” Kaitlyn said, trying her hardest to make her stalling more believable. 

“Do you have a mobile on you? Go ahead and call the police station to verify it is the police. I understand that you are scared to open the door for me, you make a good point about opening the door for a male knocking on the women’s restroom.” Lestrade said with a small chuckle, trying to sound harmless. 

“I don’t have a mobile.” Kaitlyn said as Hughes kneeled to raise her into the vent. “Can you pass your badge in through the opening?” She pleaded with a worried tone. 

John grabbed Sherlock now, pushing him over to Hughes and Briars who was holding her arms down to pull the Detective in. “Sherlock, I need you to go. Hughes and I can handle this, please. I need you to go home and look after Gladstone. I need you to be safe.” He whispered, frowning beneath his mask. “Please.” 

Sherlock looked towards the door now as Lestrade tossed his badge in, swallowing hard as he looked back to John. “I… I cannot leave you here. Isn’t there some other way?” He whispered, eyes full of worry and distress. “John please, I want to help you. I do not want you locked up for years for taking the law into your hands. I can’t imagine being without you.” 

John couldn’t help but tear up, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Sherlock, I want to thank you for everything. I want to thank you for trying to help me, it means a lot. But I can’t have you locked up either, guilty by association as they say. Anything I do here? You will catch the heat too; you will go to jail with me.” 

“Miss?” Lestrade called, knocking hard on the door. “Miss is everything alright in there? We really need you to open the door for us. I promise you that you are safe.” 

“Just a minute!” Kaitlyn called, turning her attention back to the men below her. “Sherlock come on. It will be okay, I promise. Just take my hands and we will get you back home, okay?” 

Tears were streaming down Sherlock face as he looked up to Kaitlyn, his heart breaking in his chest. “I’m not worried about me. I am worried about those animals shooting John!” He hissed through his teeth.” 

“Miss if you do not open the door then we will be forced to break it down!” Lestrade yelled, becoming impatient with the stalling. 

“Sherlock! Come on! I am worried about Arthur too! He can’t fit in the vent either! It will be okay; they can handle themselves.” She whispered back, eyes pleading. 

Sherlock put his hands on to the top of his head, swearing as he began to pace. “Just! Just give me a second!” He hissed again, leaning against the opposite wall as he wracked his brain for a solution. 

“On the count of ten we are going to bust the door open, Miss!” Lestrade yelled as the SWAT grabbed the battering ram. 

“Sherlock!” Kaitlyn called to him; John was starting to panic now, grabbing Sherlock again and trying to force him back over to Hughes. 

“Sherlock, please go!” John pleaded. 

“One!” 

Sherlock struggled in John grip, the tears only flowing harder down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. “No!” He yelled. 

“Two!” 

John pulled Sherlock into a deep kiss, holding him close as electricity shot through both of their bodies, hands tangling deep into Sherlock’s curls. “Please.” John whispered, inches from the Detective’s lips. “Please go.” 

“Three!” 

Sherlock broke into a sob, his hands resting on John’s hips. “I can’t.” 

“Yes you can.” John reassured him. “For me.” 

“Four!” 

Sherlock shook his head as Arthur grabbed him now, pulling him away from John. “Sherlock, they won’t shoot us. I promise you that they will not kill John.” 

“Five!” 

Sherlock’s eyes lit up as an idea came to him, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders and smiling. “You just gave me an idea!” 

Arthur looked confused. “What?” 

Sherlock spun around, grabbing John now. “Take me hostage!” John looked surprised, holding up his hands. 

“I’m not going to hold a gun to your head!” John whispered harshly. 

“Then hold it to my back! Do something! Don’t you understand!? My brother ‘is’ the British Government! If you take ‘me’ hostage then they’ll have to make a deal with you!” 

“Six!” 

“Sherlock! That is absolutely insane!” John said with a scowl. “If I take a hostage then that will be added to my record! I will go to jail even longer!” 

“Seven!” 

“Insanity plea! I could actually visit you in the ward and you’d be out in two years max with good behavior!” Sherlock explained. 

“Uh, what about me?” Hughes said. 

“We’ll have you play the hostage too!” Sherlock said, smiling. “Nothing is more convincing of a Captain gone mad than holding one of his own platoon members hostage!” 

“Eight!” 

“John! We don’t have time! Please!” Sherlock said in a rush, taking John’s gun from his holster and placing it in the medic’s hand. He looked deep into his eyes. “Please.” He whispered. “For me.” 

“Nine!” 

John smiled, shaking his head as he squeezed the gun in his hand. “For you?” He asked, grabbing Sherlock by the collar and pulling him into an even rougher kiss. “I’d go through three more tours of Afghanistan for you.” 

“Guys!” Kaitlyn yelled. 

“Ten! SWAT move in! Move in!” Lestrade yelled as the SWAT began to beat down the door, the wood splintering with each hit of the ram. There was a hole made in the door next to the handle, an officer reaching in to loosen the knot on the door made by the jumper tied to it. The door flung open and SWAT moved in with Lestrade leading with his pistol drawn. Lestrade’s heart stopped as he saw the situation in the restroom, Sherlock and Arthur down on his knees with John standing over them. Two pistols in the Captain’s hands with the barrels pressed to the back of each of their skulls. “Whoa! Whoa! Hold it! Hold it!” Lestrade ordered the team, holding his arms out to pull the men back. He held his arm out to John, palm outwards. “Listen, you don’t want to do this.” He pleaded with the Medic. 

John head side to side, stretching out the tense muscles in his neck as he looked at Lestrade with a scowl. “Maybe I do. Maybe I want to relive my days of painting Afghanistan’s sand with brain matter.” He growled out, sending a shiver down Sherlock spine. Dear god, why was that growl sending his blood flow south? “Maybe I want to shoot these two and take a couple of you out with me?” 

“Where is the girl?” Lestrade asked gently. “Where was the girl I was speaking to?” 

“I let her go.” John said. 

Lestrade looked to the vent that was on the floor, then the ceiling. “Is she hurt?” 

“Not unless you want her to be.” John said, pointing one of the pistols up at the ceiling above him. Lestrade took a step forward, swallowing hard. 

“No! No. It is okay, I am happy you let her go. Why don’t you let them go, huh? Why don’t you carefully slide the pistols over to me and we can talk about this?” Lestrade offered. 

“So you can shoot me?” John asked with a laugh, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“We won’t shoot you, okay? No one must die tonight. Why don’t you tell me what has you all worked up tonight? What made you so upset?” Lestrade looked at Sherlock who was busying himself with counting the tiles on the floor, but also playing a convincing role of the hostage. “Maybe we can get you some help?” 

“What like a psychologist?” John asked with a smile, scoffing at the idea. “I don’t need someone poking around in my head.” 

“Listen, I need to make a phone call. Someone that can help, okay? I’m going to step out and be right back.” 

“Take your fucking goons with you or I’ll splatter the Detective’s brains all over the floor.” John growled again, tapping the back of Sherlock’s head with the barrel of the pistol. Mentally reminding himself to apologize later for the rough treatment. 

Lestrade sighed, running a hand through his well-deserved greying hair. “I’ll leave one in here, with the door open so you can see everything going on. Okay?” Lestrade asked as he started to pull his men back out of the room, keeping a close eye on the Medic as the team member left propped the door open with his foot. 

“Inspector!” John yelled, causing Lestrade to turn around swiftly. “Don’t forget your wallet.” John said with a smile as the inspector looked down at his wallet, slowly picking it up. “There, can’t be walking around without that, can we?” 

Lestrade nodded, smiling nervously. “Right. Just hang tight for me and we will get this all sorted out for you.” Lestrade said softly 

“Whatever you say.” John said with an eerily cheerful smile as the inspector left, one SWAT member keeping a gun trained on the Captain. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Hughes whispered to Sherlock, turning his head slightly to look at him from his peripheral. “You do have a plan, right?” 

Sherlock smiled. “Why on Earth would I need a plan? You already called in the reinforcement.” Sherlock said with a wink, making Arthur look away in surprise. 

“Oh shit.” Arthur whispered. 

Right on que there was a noise outside, followed by shouting. It sounded like a large number of people, more than Sherlock planned for. The SWAT member at the door glanced over his shoulder, leaning down to speak into his radio. “What’s going on out there?” 

The mic came on with a flood of noise, the other SWAT member having to shout into his radio. “We have a situation out here! We have at least fifty civilians carrying weapons looking for a fight!” 

“Fuck.” The SWAT member growled as he raised his rifle back up at John, adjusting his position. “I should just shoot you and let this madness end, you are a fucking coward. Taking one of your own hostage along with a civilian!” 

John just smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “At least I didn’t get overpowered by a kid.” 

“What?” The SWAT officer asked looking over his shoulder only to catch a bat with his teeth. It was the little girl that Sherlock had seen on Twitter in the video with John, she had a pretty good back swing for a six-year-old. 

The little girl giggled. “Mummy always said to stand up for what you believe in.” She said with a shrug of her own. “I believe in you, Captain.” 

John blinked, nodding slowly as he lowered the pistols. Quite impressed by the little girl’s aim, dead center in the teeth. “Thank you, but you should really get going, honey.” He explained gently. “A war zone is no place for a kid.” 

The little girl scoffed. “I’m six and a half, what are they going to do? Ground me? Besides, I have a mask on like you! He didn’t see who I was!” 

Sherlock laughed as he pulled himself upright, Hughes doing the same. “I would take the Captain’s orders though, young lady. Don’t want to be disrespectful, do we?” 

The young girl sighed, putting the bat over her shoulder. “Okay, fine…” She grumbled like she was just told to wash up for dinner. “But I want to pet your puppy one day that I saw on the telly.” 

John laughed now, ruffling her hair as he holstered his weapon. “Deal, now, run along. Get home safe for me.” The little girl said her goodbyes and ran off into the night away from the shouting mob that was outside. “I have a gut feeling she is going to grow up to be a convict.” 

Sherlock shrugged. “Job security for me, I suppose.” 

Hughes shook his head, taking back his pistol from John. “We should get going while the mob is distracting the police. Kaitlyn is probably out there stirring the pot to buy us time.” 

John hummed, peering out into the darkness. “You’re probably right, that girl loves herself some pissed off Civvies looking to beat up on some police.” Just as John was about to cross the threshold of the door, Lestrade had his pistol stuck right in his face. 

“Do you think this is some sort of game?” The inspector growled, popping his neck as he leaned it side to side. “You took two men hostage just to buy your mob out there some time? You coward, you absolute bastard! You aren’t getting away from here to easily, you are finally in a corner where I can get a good look at you.” Lestrade reached up to grab John’s mask, only to have the Medic swiftly connect his forehead to the inspector’s nose. 

“Sherlock! Hughes! Get out of here! Run! Meet me at Checkpoint Alpha!” John yelled, not seeing Lestrade pull himself back upright, only to sucker punch the Medic in the check. 

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for this since you gave me the slip at the China Gate.” Lestrade said with a breathy laugh, holding his fists up. “You are coming to Scotland Yard with me tonight.” 

John nodded, rage in his eyes as he felt the broken skin on his cheek. Checking his teeth with his tongue carefully. “You want to fight?” John asked with a smile as he dropped his gun and slid it back to Sherlock. “Fine, we’ll fight. But I am going to make you regret this in the morning.” John growled as he tackled Lestrade backwards, punching the inspector in the face once before Lestrade grabbed him around the throat. 

John choked and grabbed the hands around his throat, Lestrade smiled up at him. “I’ve been in more fights than you’ve ever been, ‘Captain’.” Lestrade growled out. “Don’t think just because you’re some glorified hobo that you can kick my ass!” 

“Funny you say that.” Sherlock said, holding John’s pistol down in Lestrade’s face. “My brother calls me a glorified imbecile.” 

Lestrade let go of John’s throat, holding his hands up as he looked up at Sherlock. “Sherlock, have you lost your mind!? Why are you helping him!? He just held you hostage!” 

“Oh, that?” Sherlock asked, sighing. “My plan really, had to beg the Captain here to do it. Not his fault really, but mine. You can say that I held a gun to the back of his head.” 

John laughed, coughing as he stood up from the Inspector’s chest. “I know better than to argue with a man who has a gun in my face. Maybe you should take the hint too, Inspector?” 

Lestrade growled, slamming his fist into the tile. “Sherlock, you absolute bastard! When Mycroft hears about this! - “ 

Sherlock smiled. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll hear about it while he is icing your wounds when you get home. But for now, you are going to lay there while the Captain and I disappear.” 

“If I don’t?” Lestrade asked angrily. 

Sherlock pointed the gun at Lestrade crotch now. “Well, then I suppose Mycroft will be icing something else tonight.” 

Lestrade almost flinched as the gun was aimed a little too close to home, scowling at the three as they carefully stepped over the unconscious SWAT member and ran into the night. They could hear the mob all around them, shouting and throwing things. “This way!” John yelled as he took Sherlock’s hand, running for Walmer Road. “Hughes! Split up! Find Kaitlyn if you can! Meet us at Check Point Alpha!” He called back to Hughes who broke off from the group and ran into the mob. 

“Where is Check Point Alpha?” Sherlock asked, squeezing John’s hand in his as they ran. 

“Harrington Square Gardens!” John said with a smile. “Where I was when you first texted me!” 

Sherlock could not run twenty-one miles, and he was not sure if the Captain could either. Sherlock pulled John into an alley way off Lansdowne Road and into the shrubbery next to a little bare patch in between some houses. John and he began to laugh in the dark, pulling each other into a tight hug, swaying with each other in their arms. “That was quite the night, Captain.” Sherlock purred into John’s ear, pressing a kiss into his blonde hair. 

John hummed, pressing a kiss to the Detective’s cheek now as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Smiling as he looked the man over, his hands coming to rest on Sherlock’s cheeks. “I apologize for dragging you into that mess, I also apologize for hitting the back of your head with the barrel of my gun.” He whispered, finding himself pushing Sherlock gently backwards up against the wall, his hands sliding down to Sherlock’s waist. 

“No offense taken, Captain.” Sherlock said with a smile, pressing their foreheads together as they savored the quiet and the sound of cars passing by on the street. “But you still owe me that date.” He teased lightly, letting his hands shamelessly slid back to grab John’s ass. 

“I do, don’t I?” John asked with his own purred, his hand sliding just under Sherlock’s ass and holding his leg gently. His fingers feeling the tight jeans against those long legs he loved. 

“I say we get a cab to the Gardens; you lost your jumper back in the restroom and it is awfully cold. I would hate for my Captain to get sick in this weather.” Sherlock said with a smile nipping at John’s bottom lip. 

John hummed, nodding slightly as his lip was bit. A gasp threatening to leave him. “That sounds like a wonderful idea Detective.” 

“Then we can get a hot meal and go back to my place?” Sherlock asked, his face flushing from his own shyness. 

John chuckled quietly, burying his face into the man’s neck. “I like the sound of that.” He said with a smile, breathing him in. “Maybe curl up and watch some telly?” 

Sherlock hummed, giggling almost. “Something like that.” 


End file.
